Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale
Chapter 49: The First Competitors

The armoured goat rattled up to the platform. I could barely make out anything beyond its dappled nose, and I snorted as its shoulder stuck on a jutting edge of the platform. The goat bleated accusingly, then stood stock still. Malt hopped down to release the poor thing and heft the cask and its accompanying note onto the table.

Then he pulled three Whistlemugs from a cupboard in his lectern and I raised an eyebrow in surprise. That brief glance had revealed a dozen odd mugs under there. We hadn’t sponsored this particular tournament, as I’d been leary of complaints about bribery or unfairness. I really hoped Whistlemop hadn’t gone behind my back.

Malt assuaged my concerns immediately, as he happily announced, “I can guess some of you are grumbling about these. They’re still in short supply, after all. I assure you that we weren’t given more than we were due. I had all the apprentices of Marvelous Malts buying mugs over the past few weeks in preparation for this event. The glass will allow you to truly appreciate the colour and composition of the brews as they're poured for the judges.”

The Lord smiled at the mugs, but Blackbeard’s face pinched. His voice was gruff and masculine, befitting a dwarf, but he used a lot of words that I would consider… forced. “These are most wondrous exemplars of beer technology. I was presented with one such for my own use in Minnova palace. But I am appalled that a gnome's face sits upon a dwarven imbibing vessel. I must see to it that a proper dwarven glassmaker in Kinshasa obtains the rights to craft it.”

There was a mix of gasps and laughter in the crowd. Up behind me Beatbox began swearing. I began sweating. Blackbeard was as bad as we’d feared. Our only hope was that he liked our beer and note enough for it to overcome his… everything.

Malt’s face was fixed. “I encourage our judges to be careful with these, as my apprentices will expect them back. Ha ha! I couldn’t bear to see their disappointed gazes. They’re like my children, except I can actually fire them.”

The crowd’s laughter this time was more unanimous.

“Speaking of which. Those of you that came to tha cooking contest may remember the sound barrier set up in the false market. A similar enchantment has now been set up ta block sound and sight from down here. All we can see are fuzzy and silent stands. This should help keep our judges from being swayed when ya all start cheerin’ for your beers!”

Up in the magical projection, Prophet Barnes let out a puff of air, then rubbed under his nose. I strongly suspected that someone so powerful had ways of seeing past stuff like that.

“And without further ado, I give you tha first beer of the competition!”

Malt popped the cork on the cask and began pouring it into the Whistlemugs. The brew that drizzled out was a hazy dark yellow, almost like someone had a bladder infection. A bare hint of a head was left at the top after his pour. The projection zoomed in, and I could see a lot of yeasty trub inside, and what appeared to be a few leaves. I quickly pulled out my notebook and began drawing them in my ‘Bittering Agent Ingredients?’ section.

Malt passed the first mug to the Lord, then poured and passed, and poured and passed. As soon as all three judges had a glass in front of them Malt spread the white envelope open on his lectern and began carefully reading.

“Down beneath the Erd is where dwarves are born and live our days. Much as ourselves, Light Brew thrives within the deep places. It is a light in the darkness that can never be put out. Like the illustrious clans of old, our Light Brew keeps to its roots and does not falter. Light Brew is one of the two Brews acknowledged by Barck himself, and has survived unchanged for millenia. A dwarf knows better than to tear down a strong fortress and build something new, and our beer represents that. We offer it to our most gracious and noble judges that they may declare it worthy.”

Lord Grafter and Barnes’ faces were impassive during the entire speech, but Blackbeard nodded along, preening his beard at the end. As the reading came to a conclusion, the apprentices from the Drunken Duck began to applaud and shout their support. I’d never actually tried Drunken Duck Lager; Bran had usually used Stonetusk Lager for the mine. If it was at all similar though…

The three judges lifted the mugs to their lips and drank. They paused at differing moments to swish the drink around in their mouths, then swallowed.

The Lord was the first to speak. “An adequate representation of Minnovan Light Brew. This must be a Faultless, or Drunken Duck. It definitely reminds me of home.”

The Drunken Ducks cheered at that, but their cheering died when Barnes cut in with a pithy, “But, there’s nothing to separate this from any other Light Brew. They’d better hope nobody else handed one in. Did they even try to stand out?”

Blackbeard nodded. “I do believe the cask is enchanted. If you’ve never had the opportunity before, it would be hard to spot. This is the exact temperature that Light Brew is when served directly at the brewery. I believe the contestant put extra effort into capturing that ‘from the mines’ flavour. I would put it as above adequate for that alone. Compared to the beers in the capital though? It’s nothing much.”

Barnes smirked. “Above adequate then.”

The lord nodded. “I’m not impressed by their description of what makes a dwarf. We are much more than simple moles digging in the dark. It shows a lack of… breadth.”

“And it ignores our southern siblings, who live atop their arid mountains.” Barnes agreed.

Across the arena I spotted the figure of Master Brewer Cimon. The old codger looked like someone had stolen his stuffing at Christmas. Hah! Take that!

While Blackbeard chatted at the Lord about brews in Kinshasa and Barnes swept his eyes over the ‘totally invisible audience’, the next goat was sent in. Beneath its shifting plates, it was a dark ochre colour, with tufts of red fur. Next to us in the arena, the brewers of Ruddy Bloodbrews rose to their feet and began cheering and hollering.

Malt popped the cask and poured, and to my utter surprise, what poured out from the cask into the mugs was a bright red ale. It was about the colour of an irish red, but with a splash of extra crimson. It had the standard poor carbonation, which made it look even more like blood. I glanced over at Ruddy Bloodbrew where Rudd was sitting smugly. If he’d made a true red ale, I was impressed!

Red ale was made by adding just enough dark malt to change the colour of a regular ale. It wasn’t quite a stout, which was mostly dark malts, and it wasn’t quite a pale ale. It was a red ale! I had to assume they’d used food colouring or somesuch to make it work. Then again, we’d sent samples of Barista Brew to all the brewers along with basic instructions as promised, so it was possible he’d experimented with adding dark malts to his beer.

However he’d done it. It was clear that Samuel Rudd had changed the ingredients in the Sacred Brew. I sent him a salute.

Down below, Malt had opened the letter, but before he could speak Blackbeard thumped his fist on the table. His face was a mask of outrage.

“What is this? Is this True Brew!? It is… red. Why is it red!?”

The Lord snorted. “You’ve been in Minnova fer a month. Have you not investigated our brewing industry?”

“I heard some things about an insult to the Sacred Brew. Some dwarves utterly lacking in respect have been doing terrible things to it.” Blackbeard sniffed. “I tasked my servants with bringing me only the finest ale in Minnova.”

Barnes was sniffing the beer, his eyes twinkling. “My goodness! By the smell I would guess it to be a Ruddy Bloodbrew True Brew, but the colour… focus on here!”

The massive projections hanging above the arena zoomed right in on the mug, and we got a great view of the light glittering through the bubbling murk within. “The brewer seems to be going for a bloody texture, but to my eyes it looks more like an uncut ruby! What a lovely colour!”

Malt coughed. “May I read now?”

Lord Grafter nodded and Malt began reading from the included note. “Menfolk are giants, beastkin are quick, elves live forever, and gnomes have wit. But we dwarves have a strength all our own, for our bodies are strong and our mind can be honed. Every dwarf child knows the feel of fear, and the Rage that comes when danger draws near. The red in our vision as we gird our toes, and cover ourselves in the blood of our foes. No other race is born to battle as dwarves. This Red Rage Ale represents that which every dwarf knows from the first time they stub their foot or tear their moustache.”

Lord nodded along to the letter’s… interesting rhyme. Barnes seemed amused, and Blackbeard continued to scowl.

“Now, that’s more like it!” Lord Grafter gave a fierce nod. “Well said! The words of one who truly knows what it means to be a dwarf!”

“Well, one part of it anyways.” Barnes tapped his mug, and the thin head jiggled. “Not all of us are so familiar with combat as yerself, Lord Grafter.”

“I am disinclined to quaff it.” Blackbeard’s scowl grew darker.

Malt had a worried look. “I assure you that no brewer in Minnova would give such a great noble somethin’ ill-tasting.”

Blackbeard nailed Malt with a glower. “You are the guild master are you not? Are you permitting this travesty?”

“Actually, changing the ingredients in tha Sacred Brew was the previous Guildmaster’s idea.” Malt shrugged. “He’s moved on, but we honour his ideals.”

I choked, and beside me Richter sprayed a mouthful of Liquid Gold across Johnson.

Annie rose to her feet indignantly, “That was our line! He stole our line!”

The three judges drank their beers. The Lord threw his back, Barnes sipped demurely, and Blackbeard gave it the barest lap of his tongue - he was still scowling.

“Yes, definitely a Rudd.” Barnes nodded. “It has that faint coppery flavour. It’s been amplified though, and has a darker tone. The aftertaste is somewhat.. burnt? It’s unique.”

Lord Grafter smiled widely. “It tastes like battle! I wouldn’t mind a keg of this! You hear that, Rudd!”

“These beers are technically supposed to be anonymous…” Malt said with a strained tone.

The Lord gave a low laugh. “*Hur Hur* They think I can’t differentiate the brewers of my own city? That was a polite fiction and you all know it. My judgment will be my own; and none here will dare question my honour.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NƟvelFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“Bah. It is disgusting.” Blackbeard wiped at his tongue. “There is a metallic aftertaste, and it is sweet. Sacred Brew is meant to be sour and strong. This is not even fit for the Erd to drink.”

And with that he poured the mug out on the sand behind him.

There were mixed reactions amongst the crowd. Some isolated dwarves laughed and cheered. A few jeered. The majority though erupted with dark murmuring. A few hefted axes and I saw a single nearly naked [Berzerker] begin battering at the magical shield blocking off the arena. He was promptly put to sleep by an Arena mage and carted off. Rudd had turned as red as his brew and looked ready to pop.

“What a disrespect to the Sacred Brew.” Annie muttered. “Regardless of his thoughts, that was the hard work of a respected artisan of Minnova.”

Down in the Arena, Malt wiped his brow. “Aheh. Ah, I’d like to call for our next goat. As we do, would our judges tell us a bit about their favourite brews?”

Blackbeard happily launched into a description of a place on the riverbanks in Kinshasa, while the Lord and Barnes gave him stinkeye. In the meantime, a third unigoat trotted in. I was disappointed to see it wasn’t Penelope, but rather a similar pure white unigoat with a brown nose.

Malt let Blackbeard ramble as he pulled out three more mugs and did his pour.

The liquid that spilled into the mug this time was the murky brown of a True Brew. It flowed in eddies, and I could see the usual trub swirling around, though this time there were no visible sticks or leaves. The head was a bit higher than the previous Light Brew, and it had a more homogenous consistency.

This time it was the section of seating for Faultless Brewery that erupted with cheers and celebration. I spotted the elderly Master Brewer Fault sitting demurely at the front of the seats; she was politely clapping.

Each of the judges took their drinks and variously sniffed, peered, and prodded.

“Now, this is a proper True Brew!” Blackbeard said. “It has the acrid scent of a well flavoured beer, and I do see that marvelous attention has been paid to the little details. There is just enough to masticate, but not so much that it takes away from the essence of the brew.

“I wanna pop his nose.” Johnsson growled beside me. “What kinda beardless uses words like masticate.”

There was a general “Shhhh!!!!!” from the crew.

Malt opened the accompanying note and began to read. “Many millennia ago, the First Brewer set down the techniques to craft our most Sacred Brew. Through the years, our noble Greybeards and Lord and Ladies have kept our traditions alive. Dwarven artisans are famed the world over for our attention to detail and our exacting work. Our Brew is exactly as the First Brewer intended. It showcases the respect we have for who we were before, and the richness of our history. It is the culmination of generations of artisans: the perfect True Brew.”

“Faultess.” The Lord and Barnes said in unison, then looked at each other and barked laughs.

The Lord pulled the enormous claymore off his back and slung it beside him before leaning back in his chair. “Shall we see who can guess all tha breweries correctly, Prophet Barnes?”

Barnes wagged his finger. “Are you sure you want to compete with me in a battle of insight, Lord Grafter?”

“Hah! Ya think you know more about my city than me?”

They each gave an edged smile and shook hands.

Blackbeard spun a gold band in his beard as he spoke thoughtfully. “You are most correct that this is faultless. Their description is just as thorough as their brewing; they paid proper respect to our ancestors and the dwarven nobility.”

Lord Grafter rolled his eyes so hard it was visible even without the projection. “Faultless is tha brewery. One of the eight contestants.”

Blackbeard flushed, and hid it by taking a drink. Lord Grafter and Prophet Barnes followed suit a moment after.

“Hmmm… yes, this is a Faultless True Brew.” Lord Grafter nodded. “The scent reminds me of being in tha dungeon. And all the ratios’re just right.”

Blackbeard wiped foam from his broad moustache. “I do recognize this; it is what my servants brought me. It has the requisite filmy mouthfeel, and the tart tones turn sour with the aftertaste. The bitterness makes my tongue tingle most pleasingly. It is not quite up to Kinshasa standards, but it is by far the superior brew from all those presented so far.”

Lord Grafter frowned as he held his half-empty Whistlemug up to air and swirled it. The beer spun in eddies in the mug, and yeast particles flecked the bare glass. “But like the first Light Brew, which must be Master Brewer Cimon’s, it’s just their regular True Brew. What’s the point of presenting a challenge to our artisans if they’re unable to adapt? On the battlefield, a dwarf must adapt or die.”

“But, it is in keeping with the traditions.” Blackbeard actually admonished him. Beside me, Balin gasped at the disrespect.

Lord Grafter nailed him with a glowing steely gaze. “Traditions are what have made our society great, Blackbeard. They are not what defines a dwarf. If you wish to become a great Lord, you will need to learn the difference between tradition and obstinance.”

“Obstinance, now that defines a dwarf” Barnes chuckled.

Blackbeard turned red, and seemed about to speak, then slumped back in his seat instead. Across the Arena, Master Brewer Fault's smile had grown flat.

“My wife would agree with you, Prophet Barnes!” Malt chuckled along, but his face was lined with stress. “Are you all ready fer tha next brew?”

Lord Grafter nodded, and Malt called for a new caprid.

A white unigoat clad in armour pranced into the arena. She paused as she entered and surveyed the stage.

*Baaaaaaahhh!!* [Translated from Primma Donna Goat] “Now this is a proper audience for a lady.”

Our section erupted into cheers.

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